On the Inside
by LadyIngenue
Summary: AU: Daryl is in prison for his father's manslaughter. Maggie has gone missing and Beth, without anyone else to turn to, writes to an inmate she has heard was hunting in the woods next to the farm around the time her sister disappeared. A slow burn between Beth and Daryl told with narrative and their letters to each other. No ZA.
1. Chapter 1

May 14

Dear Mr Dixon,

You don't know me, but I'm writing to you because I don't know what else to do. I'm not one of those crazy girls who write to prison inmates looking for romance, so please don't think that.

Eight months ago my sister Maggie Greene went missing. Disappeared clean off the earth leaving barely a trace. The police say there's nothing they can do as she's an adult. They don't even think she was kidnapped because she'd had a fight with daddy the night before she disappeared. Not even daddy believes it. But you have to believe me, Mr Dixon:

My sister was taken.

Maggie would never just leave without telling me. We live on a farm with many hectares. It's a lonely part of Georgia. A person could just walk away and get lost in the woods if they weren't careful. Or they could be taken under cover of darkness and there would be no witnesses.

I haven't been able to find out much, but I did find out that you and your brother used to hunt in those woods and I have to know: did you see anything unusual last September? Did you hear about anything that could help me? I know you were on the outside at the time. Don't think that by me saying that it means that I think you were involved in any way.

I am at my wit's end, Mr Dixon, and I don't know where else to turn. You're my last hope.

Yours sincerely,

Beth Greene

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Daryl Dixon finished the letter and looked up at the cell wall. It was the only letter he'd received in the three months he'd been at the West Georgia Correctional Facility. Merle sure has hell didn't write to him. His brother didn't even come to visit him since he'd been sentenced to ten years for voluntary manslaughter.

It had been voluntary all right. In fact it was a miracle he wasn't on death row right now.

Some of the inmates, the more infamous ones, got letters by every post. He'd seen 'em. Pink envelopes reeking of cheap perfume. He hadn't understood women on the outside and he understood 'em on the inside even less. What sort of female wrote to a convicted criminal?

He glanced down at the letter in his hand. This wasn't that sort of letter, thank God, but it wasn't much better.

 _I know you were on the outside at the time._

It read as an accusation. She'd tried to assure him she didn't think he had anything to do with it, but she couldn't know for sure. And here he was a convicted criminal and all.

He thought he remembered the farm. A real doll's house of home, standing on acres of grazing land. He'd only glimpsed it from a distance but it was pretty as a picture. The sort of place that smelled of fresh-baked bread and had glossy horses in the stables. It couldn't have been more different from the house he'd grown up in: a place of fear and squalor, thin walls and cold winters.

Daryl would have thought that anyone living in that farmhouse would live a charmed life. 'Just goes to show you can't take anything for granted, sweetheart,' he murmured at the letter. How old was this girl, anyway? She said her sister was grown, but they were both still living at home. Her writing was a loopy cursive, and it seemed to have been written with an old-fashioned fountain pen.

He and Merle had lived about fifteen miles from the farm on the other side of the woods. They'd go on hunting trips that would last for days on end and take them to every corner of those woods. They'd seen people. Other hunters. Hikers. Nothing unusual. No girls, just rough men like they were. If he thought hard he might be able to remember some of their faces. He had a sharp eye and a good memory. But what would be the point? That wouldn't help the girl.

 _You're my last hope._

That line glared up at him, and he didn't like it. He'd never been anyone's last hope before. No one had ever relied on him, and he'd never relied on anyone else. That's the way he liked things to be.

Daryl screwed up the letter and threw it into a corner of his cell.

l

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 _Three weeks later_

'Beth, honey, there's a letter for you.'

Hershel was frowning down at the long white envelope. They were sitting at the table together over breakfast. Outside the birds were chirping in the warm, early summer sunshine.

'Can I see it?' Beth asked when he didn't pass it over.

Hershel looked up, tapping the letter against his palm. 'Why would an inmate of the West Georgia Correctional Facility be writing to you?' He held the letter up to show her. In a strong, slanted script was her own name and address. Stamped in the top right-hand corner we the words MAILED FROM WEST GEORGIA CORRECTIONAL FACILITY.

Beth felt her eyes go wide. Daryl Dixon, the inmate she'd written to – it had to be a letter from him. She'd given up hope that he'd ever write back.

'I wrote to him,' she said. 'I thought he might know something about Maggie. One of the officers on the case told me him and his brother used to hunt in the woods.'

Hershel sighed. Suddenly he looked very tired. 'Honey, we talked about this. Maggie's gone. She packed up her things and she left.'

 _Her things_ , Beth thought sullenly. One bag. One change of clothes. That wasn't gone-for-good. That was an overnight trip.

'I can't have you corresponding with a convicted criminal,' Hershel said. 'Do you even know what he's been imprisoned for?'

Beth panicked. He wasn't going to give her the letter. It might hold the answer to Maggie's disappearance. 'No, I didn't think it polite to ask Mr Dixon or try to find out. It doesn't matter what he's done if he can help us find Maggie. Please, daddy. Let me read it. It's just a letter.'

Hershel shook his head. 'I don't like it. He could be dangerous.'

'He's behind bars. How dangerous could he be?' She saw that this wasn't persuading her father. 'I'm eighteen. I have a right to some privacy. Y'all have given up on Maggie but I never intend to.' She couldn't maintain her severe expression. 'Please, daddy,' she said, imploring him. 'I ain't hurting anyone. Let me have this. I need it.'

The only thing that had been keeping her going these last eight – almost nine – months was the thought that she'd get her sister back, somehow, someway. No lead was too insignificant. She'd had to be smart about things, though. She was eighteen, but her daddy didn't like her 'runnin' all over the countryside' as he put it, and she tried to keep her inquiries a secret from him and limit herself to things like phone calls and letters. She respected his wishes because with Maggie gone and mama dead these past three years he didn't have anyone but her. She didn't want to hurt him even more. But she couldn't just do nothing.

Hershel still didn't look like he thought it was a good idea, but he handed the letter over. Beth took it calmly and put it in the pocket of her jeans and slowly finished her breakfast. She wanted to open it right there and then but it wouldn't be a good idea to seem too eager.

'I'm going to work on my composition now,' she said as she cleared the breakfast things away. Beth had adopted the front room where the piano forte was as a sort of studio where she worked each day, composing songs.

When she was finally sat at the piano and Hershel had gone out to the stables, she tore open Mr Dixon's letter:

June 3

Miss Greene,

If your sister has been gone eight months then she ain't coming back. I'm sorry to say it but there it is. You holding on to hope and clutching at straws is just going to ruin your life as well. I believe you when you say she was taken. But that's why you gotta to give up. Bad things happen to good people.

Hoping you find peace, one way or another.

Daryl

Beth felt the crushing weight of disappointment. He hadn't even tried to help her or ask for any details about Maggie's disappearance. Why had he waited so long if he was just going to disappoint her? It seemed unusually cruel. He might know something and not even know it was important. A face. A sound. Anything.

She stared out the window for several long minutes. She had nothing else to go on. She'd meant it when she'd said it to Mr Dixon that he was her last hope.

Beth wasn't about to give up that easily. She went over to the desk and picked up her pen.

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 **What do you think? If you like the story so far leave a comment and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you, good or bad.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow, thank you so much for the reviews and encouragement so far! As a newbie here it's really spurring me on. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.**

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June 5

Dear Mr Dixon,

Thank you for writing back to me. I realised after I read your letter that I'd gone about it all wrong: why would you want to help me when you don't know Maggie and me? So let me tell you about us.

Maggie's my big sister. She'll be twenty-three by now (her birthday's in March) and she's a real pretty girl. Taller than me, with brown hair just skimming her shoulders. But she ain't no pushover. She's always been the feisty one. One time when she was fifteen she rode one of daddy's horses bareback, this big white mean one called Phantom that you could barely call broken, right round the perimeter of our property, whooping and hollering like a banshee. Laughing too. She'd been told she wasn't good enough a rider to take him out, but she went ahead and did it anyways, and made all that noise so as everyone would know she'd done it. She got in trouble of course. Had to dig fence posts for one of the top fields for a whole week. But after, she road Phantom as much as she liked and daddy didn't make a squeak.

After she finished high-school daddy started to teach her how to run the farm. He's a bit older than my mama was and he's almost seventy now. She's going to run the farm after he's gone.

She's my half-sister, but she's never felt half. She's the real thing to me. My mama married daddy after Maggie's mama died, and then they had me. Now my mama's dead too and Maggie's disappeared so it's just daddy and me at the farm, and the farm-hands of course.

When I finished high-school I didn't fancy going to college either, but I also didn't want to learn farming. I love music and I play the piano. I've been writing little songs almost as long as I can remember. When I was sixteen I sent a song to a record label in Atlanta, and what do you know! They sent me back a check. I couldn't believe it when I saw my name printed on it. I banked that money, and I've been banking every check they have sent me since. I've sold three more songs to them. Just before I graduated high-school I heard one of them on the radio. It's called _Two Hearts and a Diamond_. It's funny, I don't really play poker but after I watched Maggie playing with one of the farm hands one time I had this idea for a love song with all these poker puns and it just wrote itself. This trio of girls called The Sweetgums who sing country music got given it and it was sorta a hit for them.

Daddy gave me such a talking to when he saw your letter with that official prison stamp on the front. He didn't want to give it me, but I persuaded him. There was no way he was keeping your letter from me.

Please write back, and tell me about yourself. No strings attached.

Yours sincerely,

Beth Greene

…

Daryl put down the letter with a groan. This girl sure was pushy. He hadn't expected to hear from her again after he'd sent his letter, but here was another one, just two days after he'd sent his. She must have sat down to write it straight away.

He was in a far corner of the prison yard in some shade thrown by a high wall. He'd waited till he was alone to open Miss Greene's letter. He didn't want anyone thinking she was just another one of those crazy girls who wrote love letters to inmates. She seemed like sweet. Naïve, that was for sure. But reading her letter was the first thing that had taken him out of himself in months. She spoke of her sister with such love, and she was smart, too. Smart enough to compose songs that bigshot producers wanted to buy and turn them into hits on the radio.

He read it again, but this time he frowned. Every reference to her sister was in the present tense. That wasn't good. It just meant that when Maggie's body finally turned up or somebody confessed to her murder she was going to get her heart broke.

He couldn't help reading between the lines of the letter.

 _I banked that money, and I've been banking every check they have sent me since._

Was this a way of telling him that she was willing to pay for his help? He had never taken handouts from anyone and he wasn't going to start now. Especially not when he was in prison. A couple of the guys who received love letters from women were scamming them, making all these empty promises in exchange for cash and presents. It was disgusting.

In the afternoon he was making road signs. He liked working with metal and it gave him something to do with his hands. Today it was stop signs and he stood at a heavy-duty machine chopping them into octagonal shapes.

When he got back to his cell his cell-mate was elsewhere, so he took out a paper and pen.

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June 7

Miss Greene,

There ain't nothing to tell. I'm a ward of the state. I eat when they tell me. I sleep when they tell me. The food ain't fit for pigs and the company ain't either.

I'm sorry about your sister. She sounded like a real nice girl.

Good luck with your songs. I hope I get to hear one someday.

Daryl

.

He'd written those last two sentences without thinking and now he wished he hadn't. It sounded too friendly and the last thing he wanted to do was encourage this girl. He thought about scribbling them out but that might only make her wonder what he'd written and write back and ask him.

Daryl shoved the letter into an envelope, wrote the girl's name and address on the front and put it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

…

Beth tore open the envelope. It was another letter from Mr Dixon, and he'd written back right away. She knew that telling him about her and Maggie would do the trick. They weren't just strangers to him now.

But when she looked at the letter she saw it was just a couple of short lines like the last one, and they were just as disappointing.

Or were they?

 _Good luck with your songs. I hope I get to hear one someday._

It was a small olive branch, but it was something. Maybe he was just shy and needed a little drawing out.

Beth went to her desk and picked up her pen.

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June 9

Dear Mr Dixon,

Here's a picture of me and Maggie taken just a few weeks before she disappeared. She's the one on the left in the white t-shirt. I'm the one in the denim shirt. We're grinning so hard because Maggie's mare had just foaled and it was a beautiful little boy. He's getting so big now, and his name is Billy.

Maggie was friendly with the farm-hands and all our neighbours. She had friends in town, too, the ones she went to school with. She didn't have a boyfriend … but there was something giddy about her those last weeks. I asked her straight out several times if it was a man, and she'd just shrug and look mysterious or grin like an idiot. I don't know why. She'd always told me about guys she'd gone out with in the past. I hate her keeping things from me. Not because I'm nosy, but because I love her. Maybe she knew daddy wouldn't like him for some reason, but I wouldn't judge her.

Sometimes I find myself looking out the window and wondering what you're doing at that precise moment. If it's sunny I wonder if you're outside. We had meatloaf with peas and carrots last night and it made me think about what you said about prison food. Is that the sort of thing they give you to eat? Can you even ruin meatloaf so it's not fit for pigs?

Yours sincerely,

Beth Greene

…

June 11

Beth,

Good God, girl. You gotta stop calling me Mr Dixon. I've been just Daryl my whole life till I found myself in court and then it was Mr Dixon this and Mr Dixon that. I'm not even Daryl in here. I'm Dixon to the warders and the inmates both.

Don't go sending pictures of you and your sister to just anyone. Specially not into a prison. This place is wall-to-wall creeps and you don't know want to know what would happen if one of them got hold of it.

Your sister was seeing someone? Sure sounds like it. That there's your best lead. Nine times out of ten it's the boyfriend, and ain't that just one of the saddest things you've ever heard. I know it's nine times out of ten because they're all in here with me.

Daryl

.

He looked at the letter a long time, thinking. This wasn't going to get her to stop writing. In fact he'd practically given her a green light to keep going by telling her to call him Daryl. When her letter had shown up that morning he'd felt the weight of his incarceration lift a little from his shoulders. He'd put it straight in his pocket and hurried away, one hand clamped firmly around it. If anyone had tried to take it off him he would have dropped them whether a guard was looking or not.

He looked at the picture again. Maggie was just how she'd described: tall, capable. Beth had called her pretty, but he thought handsome was a better word. Striking. Now Beth, she was pretty. Big blue eyes and the sweetest expression, though there was something determined in the set of her pointed chin, and something in those eyes that said, _I know I don't look like much, but you just watch me_.

He should chuck her letters and her photo straight in the garbage but instead he found himself looking around his cell for a safe place to stash them. They weren't contraband but he didn't want his cell-mate getting a hold of them. He'd probably swap them for two cigarettes so the buyer could do lewd things to himself over them.

He had a book of walking trails that he'd traded for a Stieg Larrson paperback and he stuffed the letters and the photo between the pages. It was a hefty book and the letters didn't show.

Then he looked back at his letter. _Don't send it. Don't send it. End it now._

But instead he found himself reaching for it and putting it in the envelope. They were just letters, he reasoned. There was nothing perverted in them, and he wasn't exploiting her.

'What the hell,' he muttered, and went to pay for another stamp.

...

 **I hope you like where the story is going, and please comment to let me know what you think! I'll be posting another chapter tomorrow.**


	3. Chapter 3

Beth danced in a little semi-circle around the piano. It was working! She'd made a connection with Daryl and he was starting to help her. Sort of. The suggestion about the boyfriend was helpful, though of course she'd thought of that.

She smiled at his scolding her for sending him a picture of her and Maggie. She'd only done it in case he'd seen her when he was in the woods, and had sent one with her in it too so he would know what she looked like. Put a face to her words.

'Beth, are you all right?' Hershel was standing in the doorway looking puzzled.

She looked up from the letter. 'Sure I am, daddy.' Then she realised why he was asking. She was smiling. She hadn't done that in months.

'Is that another letter from that inmate? How many is that now?' Hershel's tone was disapproving.

'Um, three. But I know he's going to be able to help me. I can feel it. He must know those woods backwards, but I can't just demand that he tell me everything he knows about them. I have to make him understand how important Maggie is to me first.'

'Is he being polite? Respectful?'

'He is. I wouldn't write to him if he wasn't.'

'Well, that's something. But you're wasting your time, sweetheart.' Hershel shook his head, resigned, and walked away muttering, 'I still don't like it.'

Beth waited till she heard the screen door close out back and then rushed to the desk.

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June 13

Dear Daryl,

There, I have called you Daryl and not Mr Dixon. I like it better too.

This morning when I woke up I went into Maggie's room and sat on her bed. I made it up with clean sheets a few days after she went missing, telling myself she'd probably be so tired when she got back. Tired from being missing in the woods.

Everything's just as she left it. Well, tidier actually. I did her laundry and put it away. Every week or so I go in and dust the photo frames and the little china figures of horses and dolphins she used to collect when she was ten.

I know everyone thinks I'm pathetic. I can see it in their eyes. Daddy's. The neighbours'. I'm holding onto hope when everyone else has given up. You know when kids go missing and are then found again months or years later? On the news the parents always say 'I never gave up hope. I knew she'd come home one day.' Where are all those people? But I supposed it's different when they all think she went off by choice.

That fight Maggie had with daddy the night before she disappeared? He won't tell me what it was about. He said the police know about it and it isn't important.

I've included some stamps and blank envelopes for you because I feel bad that I'm making you spend your money on writing to me.

Write back soon,

Beth

…

June 16

Beth,

I've sent you your stamps and envelopes back. I decided to write to you so I'll buy my own stamps.

Don't girls keep diaries? I never had any sisters but I saw it in the movies. If she wasn't telling you anything then maybe she was writing it down.

And yes, they can ruin meatloaf in these kitchens. They could ruin anything, even a cup of water.

Daryl

…

Beth finished reading the letter and her head snapped up. Daryl was a _genius_. She raced upstairs to Maggie's room. Why hadn't she thought of a diary?

It was just after lunch and sunshine was lying in a golden stripe across the bedclothes. Beth started by going through all the drawers, right to the back and under them as well. Then she attacked the closet – the stacks of sweaters, the pockets of coats, under the shoe rack. Nothing. She flipped the mattress and checked down the back of the dresser. Nothing taped to the back of the mirror.

She sighed and stared round at the room. There weren't that many places you could hide a book in there.

Book. Hmm. She glanced at the bookshelf and ran her finger along the spines. Adventure novels. Fantasy novels. And an old cookbook. Beth frowned. Maggie hated cooking. What was it Daryl had said? In the movies … She pulled the cookbook off the shelf and there it was: the diary secreted in a compartment that had been cut into the pages. That was straight out of the movies.

Beth felt victorious, but then bit her lip. It was pretty low, going through someone else's diary. In ordinary circumstances she would never invade her sister's privacy like that, but these were extraordinary circumstances. Some clue about her disappearance might be contained in the pages.

'Sorry, Maggie,' she whispered, and took the diary into her bedroom.

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June 18

Dear Daryl,

I can't believe I didn't think of that. As soon as I read your letter I went straight upstairs and I found her diary. It's been in the house for eight months, full of who knows what secrets, and nobody knew. Thank you thank you thank you.

Here's an entry from a few weeks before she went missing. It's frustrating because she writes so vaguely. She was probably worried that I was going to snoop, which I am now, I guess. But I think in the circumstances she'll understand.

It's personal stuff and I'm sorry if it embarrasses you. I don't really know what to make of it and I haven't got anyone else to turn to. If we work out something concrete then I'm going to take it straight to the police.

 _August 4_

 _We spent the whole afternoon in bed and it was like the hours were made of diamonds and pearls. It wasn't his bed. We can't stay at his place, but it was a good hotel room and we had champagne. He said he'd never seen anyone so beautiful as me before. When he'd taken my shirt off he just looked at me for ages. It made me laugh and feel embarrassed, and I don't believe I'm more beautiful than other women. But he did make me feel beautiful, and that's what counts._

 _It was our first time together, and it may as well have been my first time. Those other guys I was with, they were just boys. He's a man. No one's ever treated me like this before. I'm not Maggie the dowdy farm girl. Maggie who can't cook. Maggie who doesn't have any talent like her sister. Maggie who never gets to have any fun. I'm exotic when I'm in his arms. I'm cherished. And I feel doubly cherished knowing he's chosen me, despite everything._

 _When will we be able to be together again? It's agony waiting for him and it's only been a matter of hours._

 _August 6_

 _Today I saw him in town. I was with daddy, so it's not like we could talk. No one can know about us yet. As we passed each other in the street he caught my eye and winked at me. I thought I was going to die right there and I know I flushed bright red. Daddy was trying to talk to me about stock feed and nothing he was saying was getting through. Who can talk about stock feed when you're having a meltdown on the inside?_

 _I check my phone about ten times an hour but there's almost nothing from him. Late last night he told me that he missed me and we could see each other soon. He didn't say when, though._

 _I said to him the other day when we were in bed that I didn't know if I wanted to take over the farm any more. If I told daddy that it'd break his heart. He was so happy when I said I wanted to learn how to run it. It's his legacy. You-know-who told me that I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do, and that maybe he'd just run off with me and take care of me and I wouldn't have to worry about anything any more._

Run off with her. That bit gives me the creeps. It's what everyone is saying happened, that she ran off with a guy or by herself. But I know that's not what happened.

I told you it was vague. I'd love to work out who this guy is but there's nothing really to go on. Except … do you think maybe he's married? Maggie's not the sort of girl to get involved with a married man, or I thought she wasn't at least.

What do you think?

Beth

…

Daryl felt anger building inside him as he read the diary entries. Fuckin' creep of a married man taking advantage of a country girl. If he weren't in prison he'd hunt this guy down and smash his teeth in.

If he weren't in prison. That was the worst part of being inside, feeling useless because of these four walls.

He put Beth's letter in the walking trails book and went out to the exercise yard. There were sets of parallel bars and he stalked to the nearest one and started do sets of chin-ups, thirty at a time, till his biceps burned. Then he hung by his knees and did crunches till he could barely breathe. He worked out most days but today he really laid into his body, needing to work out his anger.

It felt creepy reading a dead girl's diary, especially when it was so personal. He'd tell Beth not to send him any more entries.

Except … Beth said she didn't have anyone else to talk to about this. She was probably feeling isolated. If he told her to stop then she'd have no one. He didn't like her facing this stuff on her own. Whatever support he could give from in there, no matter how slight it was, he wanted to give it.

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June 20

Beth,

He's married. That there is a married man sneaking around. An _older_ married man making her feel beautiful and glamorous so he can have his bit on the side. I'm sorry to be blunt. Makes me angry is all. Your sister's a nice girl and nice girls don't deserve that shit.

Daryl

P.S. I kept your other letters but I burnt this one as it's Maggie's and two people have seen it already and that's enough.

...

 **Daryl's such an honourable guy, isn't he? Once he has a connection with someone I feel like he would go to the ends of the earth for them. I hoped you like this chapter, and please leave me a comment telling me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone! So, Chapter 4. I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying writing this story. I have an ending in mind but I'm taking each chapter as it comes. The best part for me is definitely the growing trust and friendship between Beth and Daryl. I hope you're enjoying that too. Thank you so much for all the reviews, faves and follows, they're just the best.**

...

June 22

Dear Daryl,

You're so sweet to care about Maggie and respect her privacy. Thank you, it means so much to me. It hasn't been easy doing this all by myself but I don't feel like I am by myself any more as I've got you.

I think you're right about Maggie's boyfriend being a married man, and older too. I reread the entry after I read your letter and all that stuff about him being mature and knowing things just sounds like he's older. Also it sounds like he lives in the town, so that's three clues: married, older, and local. We've only got a few hundred people in this town but how many people would that include? A few dozen I suppose. Less if you only count the handsome ones. She doesn't say he's handsome but I guess he would be? Looks are so subjective, though. To be safe I won't discount anyone based on looks, but I'll rule out anyone over fifty. Unless we have George Clooney living in this town and I haven't noticed! And anyone under thirty.

Yesterday I went into town and just walked around, trying to start a list of suspects. Patrick Yates owns the feed store and he's married and about forty, but Maggie said he walked past her at the feed store so that doesn't sound right. Then there's the man who owns the cinema, the man who owns the adjacent property to us on the east side, the man who breeds prize sheep on Willow Farm, the owner of Henry's bar … I spent hours walking around looking for wedding rings and looking at faces. I just can't picture Maggie with any of these men, but he has to be around somewhere, doesn't he? Unless he disappeared with Maggie, too, but the cops would have found that suspicious and mentioned it, wouldn't they?

I'm reading the diary for more clues but nothing's jumping out at me yet. She writes a lot of daydreams and angsty stuff so there's a lot to get through.

Daryl, we've been writing to each other for a month and a half almost and it feels strange that I've never actually met you. I looked up the prison and it's just over an hour's drive away, which isn't far. Could I please come and visit you? I would just like to say hello, and thank you, and I'd like to bring a map of the woods with me as well if that's all right. You probably know them better than me and could point out the interesting features.

From,

Beth

…

Daryl put down the letter and sat back on the chair with a long, heavy sigh, his eyebrows raised. She wanted to meet. He was in the common room and one of his block-mates looked over, saw the expression on Daryl's face, noticed the letter, and grinned.

'Girl trouble, bro?'

Mick was an all right sort. He was in prison for armed robbery, so all right as armed robbers go. His most prominent feature were his big, bushy sideburns that he tended to with a special comb.

'No. Sort of.'

Mick waited, sensing a good story.

Daryl hadn't told anyone at the prison about Beth and he wasn't about to, not in detail. But he liked Mick and something made him say, 'Friend of a friend I'm helping out with somethin'. Never met her but she wants to come in an meet me. Say thank you or whatever.'

'She pretty?'

Daryl nodded. 'Real pretty.'

'Hey, hey,' Mick said, eyes lighting up. 'Get that girl in here. You never know your luck.'

Daryl was indignant. 'There's nothin' like that. She's younger than me.' She might even have a boyfriend. She'd never mentioned one but it wasn't like it was any of his business. Though if she had a boyfriend and he'd left her all alone to struggle with Maggie's disappearance then he didn't deserve a girl like Beth.

'So? You're a handsome motherfucker. Girl'll go crazy over those cheekbones of yours and that cigarettes-and-whisky voice. Show off those guns, too. Make her get moist.'

'Don't fuckin' talk about her like that. She's been through enough shit. I'm trying to help her, not fuck her.' Not that he could if he wanted to in this place.

Mick laughed, holding both palms up in a gesture of surrender. 'Sure bro, I respect you. But seriously, what are you going to do?'

Daryl rubbed his hand back and forth on the top of his head, ruffling his hair. 'Fucked if I know.'

Mick nodded shrewdly. 'But you want her to visit, don't you?'

Daryl shoved his letter in his pocket and headed for his cell. 'Go fuck yourself, Mick.'

'Love you too, bro.'

.

June 24

Beth,

I put you on my visitation list, but don't feel like you're obligated or anything.

Daryl

…

It was the shortest letter he'd ever sent her but it was one of the best. Beth wanted to meet this stranger who'd been so understanding and helpful about Maggie and he'd said yes, more or less. She barely knew anything about him and had a hundred questions for him, but even once she was face-to-face with him she knew she couldn't just ask them. From his letters he seemed like a very private person and she'd respect that.

With butterflies in her stomach she looked up the prison on the internet and dialled the visitation line. Why she should have butterflies in her stomach she didn't know.

'Hello? Yes, I'd like to visit a prisoner this Saturday. Mr Daryl Dixon.'

…

Saturday morning was warm and sunny. Beth chewed her lip, looking at the outfits spread out on her bed. Nothing seemed right: too provocative, too baggy, too formal. She wanted to project just the right image, which was friendly, grateful, and respectable. She wanted to look like someone he could confide in, because even though this was about finding Maggie she'd grown fond of Daryl. There was a real person behind those letters and she wanted to know who that person was.

In the end she chose a knee-length sun dress with a sweetheart neckline, a denim jacket and a pair of flat sandals. Her visit was at two pm and she left home at midday to allow plenty of time in case she got lost. The butterflies stayed with her as she swung out onto the highway and neared the prison. She was excited by the prospect of meeting Daryl.

Driving through the prison gates was like a dash of cold water. The place was grim and foreboding and surrounded by fences and razor wire. There were loudspeakers fixed up all over the place and guards with guns and dogs. Suddenly it all became real: Daryl was in prison. He'd done something bad, possibly violent. He might scare her, or swear at her, or do something perverted like ask her to give him her underwear.

Beth took a deep breath. No, he wouldn't. This was Daryl. He was respectful. Thoughtful. Just because he was in prison didn't make him a monster.

She parked, collected her satchel and letter of authorisation to visit and headed for the entrance.

…

'Dixon! Visitor.'

Daryl was in the prison yard and looked up at the sound of his name. So she'd come. Suddenly his hands felt clammy and he wiped them on his hips. It was a hot day and he'd taken off the top part of his orange jumpsuit and tied the sleeves round his waist. He untied the sleeves and shrugged the jumpsuit on properly over his white t-shirt. He wasn't going to meet Beth looking like some sort of thug who wanted to show off his muscles.

The visiting room was just a few minutes' walk from the yard. He knew where he was even though he'd never been in there before. It was empty of visitors so far and he slid into one of a pair of chairs at a table like the other inmates, and he waited.

…

Beth followed a dozen other women as they filed into the visitation room. A couple of them wore short skirts and heels. Others wore jeans and carried babies. When she got just inside the door she saw a sea of orange jumpsuits, and faltered. She'd forgotten she had no idea what Daryl looked like.

She turned to the warder who was standing by the door, his hands clasped in front of him. 'Excuse me. I have actually never met the prisoner I'm visiting. We've been writing so I don't know what he looks like. His name is Daryl Dixon. Would you be able to point him out to me please?'

The guard rolled his eyes. 'One of those, are you? Dixon's over there.'

…

Daryl saw her as soon as she came into the room. God she was pretty. Too fuckin' pretty for this place. To pretty to be visiting him. A dozen pairs of female-starved eyes followed her as she made his way toward him, a nervous smile on her lips. Admiring voices chimed in.

'Dixon, my _man_.'

'Nice goin', bro. Been keeping this quiet.'

Daryl glared at the inmates who'd spoken and they shut up.

He stood up when she got to his table, not knowing what to do with his hands. Handshake? Wave? In the end he did nothing. 'Hey.'

She smiled, a proper smile this time, and his heart felt tight in his chest.

'Hi, Daryl.'

...

 **I listened to your comments about Beth and Daryl meeting and here you go! How do you think it's going to go?**


	5. Chapter 5

**This story just blew up yesterday and doubled in followers! Thank you SO MUCH for all your support and encouragement. It makes writing this story all the more fun for me.**

 **So, Daryl and Beth's first meeting. I loved writing this chapter and reading all your predictions about how you thought it would go for them.**

 **Special thanks to Emma who reminded me that a guy like Daryl would be suffering like a hurt animal in prison without the freedom of the woods. You are spot on, and I've incorporated that here.**

 **Finally, I'm going to post two chapters today because you guys are awesome.**

…

He was nothing like she'd expected, and yet exactly like it at the same time.

They sat at the table facing each other in silence for several minutes. Beth had the feeling he was measuring her up, but not in a creepy way. In the manner of someone who made a habit of being observant. She liked his intelligent eyes, and how they were guarded but responsive at the same time. Like he wanted to trust her but was reserving his judgment. It was smart, she supposed. You had to be smart to survive in prison and in the woods.

All his movements were deliberate. He didn't fidget or slouch at the table. He'd rested his clasped hands on the table-top when he'd sat down and they were still there.

She, on the other hand, felt incredibly self-conscious and didn't know what to do with her hands. She realised she'd been fidgeting with her plait that hung over one shoulder, and thrust her hands into her lap.

It was too tempting not to study him, to try and commit him to memory. He'd already seen a picture of her so she wouldn't be a surprise to him, but he was all new to her. He was a bit more than a head taller than her, and he had longish dark hair growing down to his collar. He was broad through the shoulders and chest and looked strong, though she couldn't make out much of him beneath the orange jumpsuit except his collar bones and part of his chest.

But it was those piercing blue-grey eyes that seemed to miss nothing that really caught her attention.

'You know, I've suddenly realised that I know practically nothing about you,' she said with a weak smile.

He stiffened, and something slamming down behind his eyes. 'Like what?'

'Like, whether you like your coffee black or white, what team you follow, if you're a mountains guy or a beach guy.'

He relaxed again and gave her a wry smile, and she realised he'd thought she'd meant what he was doing in prison. 'Well, I like my coffee black with sugar, team sports bore me, and I prefer the woods.'

'The woods, of course. I did know that.' And she grinned and remembered that this man wasn't a stranger to her after all. 'You like nature, then?'

He nodded. 'Solitude, peace. Roaming where I feel like. Knowing that I can rely on myself and the land and that everything else can go to hell.'

What must it be like for him in a place like this, trapped in a cell? There was no natural light, no trees in the prison yard. She'd go mad if she couldn't breathe fresh air or hear birdsong, and she wasn't even the outdoorsy type. He must feel suffocated.

'Did you grow up near my farm?' she asked.

He shook his head. 'North Georgia.' His eyes grew guarded again so she didn't ask him any more about that.

'How did you come to find yourself near our farm?'

'My brother and I were travelling about. Enjoying the season, going where the hunting was good. Best way to live in the summer.'

'Merle, isn't it?'

He stared at her. 'Yes. How did you know that?'

'The sheriff who told me that there'd been hunters in the woods gave me both your names. I tracked down Merle first. He … didn't want to help me.'

Daryl gave a short, humourless laugh. 'That don't surprise me much. And I bet he didn't phrase it quite so polite.'

He relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair and hooking one arm over the seat back. His jumpsuit, which was buttoned only halfway up his chest, gaped, and she glimpsed a muscled shoulder under that white tee. The butterflies in her stomach returned with a vengeance.

She shook her head. 'Not quite so polite.' Then she laughed.

Daryl smiled at her, a genuine smile, and something flip-flopped inside her. He was good-looking, and she imagined that out in the woods, free, with the sun warming his skin, the wind in his hair and grit on his hands he'd be downright handsome. He was older than her, quite a bit older, but he had a boyish charm. A strange mix of reserve, self-assuredness, and vulnerability. Beth couldn't help but wonder what had happened in his life to make him like that.

She reached down to her messenger bag, which had been thoroughly searched before she'd been allowed into the prison. 'I have a map of the woods with me. Can I show it to you?' She spread it open on the table and he leaned forward, looking at it with interest. His hands touched the map, settling the folds flat. She could help but notice the strength in his wrists and broad hands. They were capable, work-roughened hands.

'That's the farm, there,' she said, pointing to her home, 'and that's the town. And all that is the woods. But of course you know that.'

His eyes darted everywhere over the map, seeming to drink it in. 'So that's what it looks like from above. Ain't got any of the trails marked. Suppose they're not official.'

'Trails?'

'Yeah, walkin' trails. Used to criss-cross 'em with Merle. Just dirt tracks that'd been worn by feet, or maybe deer. Saw a lot of deer. Shot a few, too.'

She leaned forward, interested. 'Where would you camp?'

'Oh, all over. Down by the stream were good spots, for the fresh water. But anywhere that looked sheltered and quiet would do. We'd build a fire, skin a rabbit. Real quiet out there.' His eyes were directed at the map but didn't seem to see it any longer. She could tell he was back there in his mind.

'I'm planning on hiking in the woods tomorrow. Just to get a feel for the layout of the trails and things.'

He came back into himself and his eyes seemed to dim. He sat back once. 'Yeah. Sounds like a good idea.' His voice was husky.

Beth found herself wishing that she could take him with her. He was a woodsman. That was his natural habitat, not here stuck inside without anything natural. The prison food must be doubly awful to a hunter who was used to fresh game cooked on a fire in the open air. She'd tasted institution food and she hadn't been impressed. She'd had appendicitis as a child and had spent a few days in hospital recovering. The taste of that watery, overcooked hospital food was still sharp in her memory. It had to be much worse in here.

How long was he going to be imprisoned? She burned to ask him. Was it months? Years? She prayed that it wouldn't be long. She had a feeling his spirit would begin to fade if he was kept under these conditions for very long. Maybe there was some little way she could make things easier for him, but he was such a proud man she was afraid to offer anything. He'd already sent back her stamps.

She bit her lip, and then said, 'When I go into the woods would you like me to write you the things I see? Birds, plants. That sort of thing?'

His eyes met hers, and something sparkled in their depths. 'Yeah. I'd like that.'

Beth couldn't help grinning at him, and he smiled back, looking at her through his dark fringe.

There was a shout from the guard and all the women got to their feet. The visit was over before it felt like it had properly begun. Dismayed, Beth rose too. She noticed that the women around her were hugging and kissing their boyfriends and husbands, brief embraces under the guards' watchful eyes.

Daryl was standing too, and she had a strange urge to throw her arms around his neck. But that wouldn't be appropriate, so instead she stuck out her hand.

'It was real nice meeting you, Daryl. I'd like to come again, if I may?'

He shook her hand, clasping it gently in his large, roughened one. 'If you like.'

His non-committal tone was disappointing. She'd wanted him to say that he'd like to see her again. She swallowed, hiding her feelings. 'Well, thank you again for all you're doing for me and Maggie.'

'No. Thank you.'

Beth joined the queue of women filing out of the visitation room. At the door she looked back and he was still watching her. Beth felt her face warm and she smiled at him. She sensed his eyes on her until she disappeared from view.

In the car on the drive home she played the visit over and over in her head. Daryl was in prison and she didn't know what for, but she couldn't shake the certainty that at his core Daryl was a good man. His letters told her so, and when she'd looked into his eyes she'd seen nothing frightening or violent. Could he have been wrongly convicted? Was there some way she could help him?

He hadn't seemed like he felt strongly one way or another about whether she came to see him again, and that was a disappointment because she wanted to see him, but there'd been something in his eyes when she'd thanked him and he'd said _No. Thank you_. With those three words he told her how much her letters meant to him.

The butterflies were doing laps in her belly, making her feel like she was floating a few feet above her own body. Meeting Daryl was the strangest, wildest, most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

…

June 28

Beth,

You never asked me today why I was in prison or how long I got. Respecting my privacy, I guess. I'm a private person. I think you might have worked that out.

I've been in prison just over four months now and I got nearly ten go. Maybe seven or eight if I get parole, but nobody round here gets parole that I've seen. I was sent down for voluntary manslaughter. My father. I did it.

Daryl

…

 **Seven to ten years :( What do you reckon Beth is going to make of Daryl's sentence and the fact that he committed a violent crime? Do you think this will affect the way she feels about him?**

 **I'm posting two chapters today so don't forget to click over to Chapter 6 ...**


	6. Chapter 6

The letter was waiting for Beth on Monday when she got back from her hike. She'd meant to go the day after her visit, the Sunday, but when she'd woken up she'd felt inspiration in her fingertips and had gone to the piano instead. Out came this haunting, instrumental piece, full of longing and strange feelings she couldn't describe. It was nothing like she'd ever written before.

She wiped sweat from her top lip with the back of her hand and tore open Daryl's letter. A minute later she put it down again, feeling a swirling vortex of shock, disappointment and confusion.

Daryl was a killer?

It didn't make any sense. She'd looked into his eyes and seen a good man. Her mind raced over the possibilities. The charge was voluntary manslaughter, so perhaps that meant it had been a hunting or car accident. Deadly accidents happened all the time and they were terrible, unpredictable and tragic events that were often nobody's fault, but people were sent to prison for them just the same.

Beth raced upstairs to her laptop, booted it up and typed 'voluntary manslaughter' into a search engine. The definition that she read was worse than the shock of reading his letter:

 _Voluntary manslaughter is the killing of a human being in which the offender had no prior intent to kill and acted during "the heat of passion", under circumstances that would cause a reasonable person to become emotionally or mentally disturbed._

It hadn't been an accident. Something had provoked Daryl and he'd killed his own father. It wasn't murder, though. It wasn't a calculated killing in cold blood. That was something. But …

Did Daryl have a temper? Could he turn violent at a moment's notice? That didn't sit right with the man she was beginning to know, and the last part of the definition spoke against it too: "circumstances that would cause a reasonable person to become emotionally or mentally disturbed."

What had happened that had driven Daryl to kill his own father?

Every other time Beth had received a letter from Daryl she'd gone straight to her desk and written one back, excited to talk to him. But this time she felt hollow and worn out.

Beth left his letter on her desk and went to take a shower. It wasn't until later that night that she was able to take up paper and pen. She wanted to write a letter that captured the beauty of the woods. To transport him back there.

.

June 30

Dear Daryl,

When I woke up this morning I saw that it was going to be a perfect summer's day. It was early and the sun hadn't risen behind the trees yet and the woods were dark against the pale yellow sky.

I got my kit together last night so I could set off straight away: rucksack, two bottles of water, crackers, dried fruit and nuts, the map I showed you and compass. I took a cheese sandwich from the fridge and an apple from the bowl in the kitchen as well.

I don't own any hiking boots but I have a good pair of runners that are well broken in, and I put on some shorts and a white cotton shirt. I thought it was going to be a hot day – and it was – so I didn't want to dress too heavily.

The sun was just peeking over the trees when I left the house and headed for the woods. They're about two miles over the fields from where I live. My runners were wet with dew by the time I crossed the first field. There were so many flocks of small birds whirring from tree to tree and skimming over the long grass. In the fields daddy's using for feed the hay is standing so high already and beginning to turn golden brown. Have you ever stood by a field of hay on a breezy day? The way the wind ripples through it makes it move like water. On a really windy day the hay swells in waves that make me think of a herd of galloping horses.

The breeze this morning was cool but as soon as I stepped into the woods it was very still and humid. I suppose it's all the damp leaf litter and the trapped air. I was soon sweating like crazy and halfway through my first bottle of water.

Within the hour I'd found one of the trails you'd mentioned and I followed it, not really with a destination in mind. I am in no way an orienteer but I know that the woods are north-east of my house, so I thought that if I got lost I would just walk south-west until I found my way to it or the main road!

I didn't think much as I walked, just listened to the chirp of the crickets and enjoyed the feel of my feet on the trail. That was a real nice sensation, like a mediation, but I didn't have to remind myself to empty my mind like I've had to the times I've actually tried meditation. It just emptied naturally and I was in what those corny self-help people like to call 'the moment'.

The trail started heading downhill around midday and my feet went with it. And you know what? I found that stream you talked about. I sat on a rock and dangled my bare feet in the cold water and ate my sandwich. I hadn't seen a soul all day except the birds and a few squirrels, and I was sitting there thinking about how still and peaceful it was when two deer came down to the water about twenty feet from me and started drinking. Must have been a doe and her faun. The little thing was all legs and ears and awkwardness, but his mama was just the daintiest thing I've ever seen. I think they saw me because they only stayed for a few minutes.

I headed back after that, thinking I'd need my compass but I thought seeing as I had all afternoon I'd try using my instincts. I came out of the woods onto our land not far from where I'd entered them. You would have been so proud of me.

That last stretch across the open fields with the sun beating down on me was the hardest part. I was red in the face and out of breath by the time I reached the house, and I drank two tall glasses of iced lemonade and then flopped down in a wicker chair on the porch for half an hour to recover.

I can sure see why you'd spend weeks living in those woods. They are beautiful, and they're so huge. I feel like I only saw a tiny part of them and I kinda didn't want to come home.

Your friend,

Beth

.

Beth stared at the letter a long time when she'd finished it. It was just what she'd wanted to say, but it was still lacking. She hadn't mentioned what he'd told her about his sentence, but she didn't know what to put. If she expressed sympathy with his jail term it would sound so inadequate, and every time she thought about the years that stretched ahead of him she felt a lump in her throat.

Ten years. It was an almost incomprehensible amount of time.

…

Beth opened the letterbox with a pounding heart, but she was disappointed again: nothing from Daryl. It had been a week and there'd been no reply to her letter, and every day was worse than the last.

She walked back up to the house slowly with a gnawing feeling in her belly. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd hurt him with her last letter by not talking about his sentence. He'd opened up to her and she'd disregarded it. At least, that must be how it felt to him. Barely an hour went by that she didn't think about him trapped in there.

When she got inside she went straight to her desk.

.

July 7

Daryl,

I didn't say anything about your sentence in my last letter and I think you're hurt that I ignored it. I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say but I have been thinking about it constantly and my heart hurts for you.

I know that what you've done doesn't define you. When I looked into your eyes I saw a gentle man. A good man. Whatever events occurred that led to your father's death I know that you weren't to blame. Maybe one day you'll tell me about it but please know that this doesn't change the way I feel about you. You've been nothing but kind to me.

Here is a pressed Cherokee rose that I found in the woods. I wanted to wait another week or so till it was properly dried out to send it but I couldn't wait any longer. It's strong enough to survive.

Yours,

Beth

…

Daryl noticed the signature with a lurch. Beth had been playing around with her sign-offs throughout her letters, ending them with 'Yours sincerely' and 'Your friend', or just 'Beth'. This was the first time she'd said just 'Yours'.

His?

He tucked the flower and the letter back into their envelope and headed for his cell. He had a new cell-mate. The old one had just disappeared one day, probably shipped off to another prison. They did that without warning sometimes. The new guy was tall and dark with strong features, and was the real stoic type. Suited Daryl just fine not to have a lot of chatter. Blake, he thought the man's name was.

Blake was lying on the top bunk when Daryl came into the cell, his hands folded over his stomach, just staring at the ceiling. Must have a lot on his mind.

He got his pen and paper and sat in his own bunk beneath Blake.

.

July 9

Beth,

The rose is real pretty, and I've put it inside one of my books to keep it safe. I must have read your letter about the woods ten times every day since you sent it and it lives in my pocket.

You say I've been kind to you but by my reckoning it's the other way round.

Daryl

…

 **What do you think of the way things are developing between Beth and Daryl? What would you have said to him if you got that letter about his conviction and sentence?** **Also, have you worked out who Daryl's new cell-mate is? ;) Did you know straight away or did you have to look him up?**


	7. Chapter 7

When Daryl woke up he decided to put a stop to talking to Beth. Then during breakfast he thought maybe he'd do nothing, just see what happened. While he made road signs he considered writing her a letter coming clean about all the crappy things he'd done to other people in his life, just layin' it out for her and waiting for the thundering silence that would follow. At lunch he realised that was the shittiest thing he'd ever considered doing and the last person who deserved that as Beth. And by the afternoon he was back to nothing, just his thoughts circling round and round in his head like a starving mutt.

In the common room he sank into a chair near Mick. There was a bank of payphones on the wall opposite and his cell-mate Blake was on one, hand gripping the receiver, forehead pressed against the wall. He couldn't make out the words but the man's voice was a low growl.

'What the fuck's his problem?' Daryl muttered as he pulled a Marlboro Light from the packet with his lips.

'Ain't he your cell-mate?' Mick asked.

'He ain't that talkative.'

'And you're a regular Chatty Cathy. His daughter's been taken into care. Tryna get the social worker to bring her in for a visit but they don't think it's the right environment for a child.'

Daryl smoked his cigarette. Mick would keep talking if he knew more.

'Wife's dead. He's got five years for embezzlement.'

Blake slammed the receiver down and stalked out of the room.

'How's your girl?' Mick asked.

Daryl decided he'd rather smoke his cigarette in peace and headed for the yard. 'Ain't got a girl.'

…

The girl who wasn't his girl visited on Saturday.

She looked fresh and pretty in a daisy print dress and had her hair loose and pulled to one side. Daryl tried his best not to look at her. Why was she here? There was nothing he could do to help her with her sister. Did she pity him, was that it?

He could see her fidgeting as the silence stretched. At last she said, with a nervous laugh, 'When I was here last time I asked the guard which one you were because I didn't know what you looked like, and he said "Oh, you're one of those, are you?" Did he mean, like … a prison groupie?'

Daryl felt his jaw tighten. How dare that guard talk to Beth that way? She wasn't one of those crazy bitches who got off on a bad boy locked in a cage. 'Yeah. He did.'

She fiddled with the sleeve of her dress. 'I suppose I am, in a way.'

Daryl looked up at last. There was unhappiness in her eyes. Unhappiness that he'd put there because he was being a jerk. This would be one way of ending it, he realised, to freeze her out till she left him alone, not knowing what she done wrong.

But he couldn't do that to her, so it was either tell her not to waste her time on him, or be grateful that she was. He pointed a finger at her. 'Listen to me. You ain't nothing like those girls. Don't go thinking about yourself that way.'

She nodded, looking down at the table. 'Daryl, I looked up voluntary manslaughter online. You don't have to tell me anything about it,' she said quickly, 'but I'd like to know what happened, if you felt like talking about it. It was some sort of accident, wasn't it? I know what the charge said, but courts get these things wrong, and –'

He cut her off with a shake of his head. He could see she wanted to sugar-coat it, to excuse him. But the courts hadn't got it wrong. He'd killed Will Dixon with his bare hands, and he'd meant to do it.

'Beth, it wasn't an accident. I didn't push him and he hit his head on somethin' sharp. I got a hold of his head and I slammed it into the kitchen tiles. Over and over. Till he was dead.'

She dropped her eyes. In a small voice, she asked, 'What was it he did, though? I know he provoked you.'

Daryl hadn't talked about this with anyone. Even his court-appointed lawyer knew only the barest details.

Beth waited.

'My mother,' he said finally. 'Said she died because he set the fire. Said he wanted her dead. I know that's not true. Firemen said she'd been smoking in bed. But he was coming at me with his strap as he said it. Wanted me to lash out I guess, so as he'd have an excuse. Not like he –' Daryl cut himself off.

'Coming at you?'

Daryl was silent.

Beth hesitated. 'You don't have to tell me anything. You know that. I'd sure like to listen to you though, if you'd like to tell me.'

Daryl looked off to one side for a moment, his finger tapping on the table top. Then he shrugged the top of his arm out of his jumpsuit, pulled his t-shirt aside and dipped his shoulder toward her. Across his shoulder blade she saw thick, silvery scars.

'Not like he ever needed an excuse, I was going to say.' He shrugged the jumpsuit back on.

Beth reached out a hand across the table but Daryl didn't close the gap and take it. 'Daryl. I'm so sorry.'

Daryl pulled his hand off the table and chewed his nail. 'No matter I'm a grown man, no matter how many dumb-ass bar brawls I've won, when my father was comin' at me with the strap it was like I was twelve years old again. He nearly killed me a coupla times back then. So I killed him.'

She was silent, but it wasn't a cold silence. There wasn't anything to say and she wasn't filling it with empty words. She was just being with him, and he liked that.

'You know, I been dreamin' about those woods ever since you sent me that letter.'

It was always the same dream, and it was a memory. It was one of those rare times that he and Merle had actually seen other people in the woods. A man and a woman, hand in hand, walking through the dusk. They were on a trail but he and Merle weren't, so he just glimpsed them through the trees. Then they stopped to make camp, cook on the fire, drink a warm beer. A simple memory but it was comforting. It had been the last time he'd slept under the stars. The next morning he'd headed for north Georgia. Merle had told him their father had been asking to see him. It had taken him a long time to decide to go, but finally he had. Turned out to be a mistake.

'I ain't had good dreams like that in a long time,' he said.

She smiled at him, and then something caught her attention over his shoulder and she frowned. 'I think I know that man.'

Daryl turned and looked. It was Blake, talking to a sharp guy in a suit. Probably his flashy lawyer. Daryl wondered how he could afford someone like that. And they said crime didn't pay.

'Blake. Embezzlement. My new cell-mate.'

Blake noticed them staring and stopped mid-sentence, fixing them both with a cold blue stare until they got the message to mind their own business.

'Yep, he lives in my town,' Beth said. 'I remember seeing him around. Didn't hear about the arrest.'

There was the sound of someone slamming their fist on a table top, and then Blake stormed out of the room.

…

Beth left the prison with a strange feeling. She was turning what Daryl had told her about his father's death over and over in her mind. Something didn't add up.

She decided to go to Sheriff Rick Grimes, the officer who'd originally told her about the Dixon brothers. He might know the answer to her question.

But when she arrived at the station an hour and a half later she found that Sheriff Grimes was out on a call on the other side of the county and wasn't expected back soon. Disappointed, Beth went to the camping and outdoor store and browsed the range of hiking boots. It didn't take much for the sales assistant to talk her into buying a pair of ankle-high brown leather boots. Then she treated herself to an ice-cream and sat on a bench in the town square, just people-watching.

When she got home she checked the mail box out of habit and found a folded piece of paper inside. A circular, probably. She unfolded it and read, in twenty-point Times New Roman,

MAGGIE'S ALIVE

…

Daryl laid Beth's letter in his lap. He'd never had such an excited one from her before. But something was setting off alarm bells in his mind. Why had someone sent Beth a note to tell her that Maggie was alive? Beth had never thought she was dead.

'Hey, Dixon.'

Daryl looked up from his bunk. Blake was lounging in the doorway to their cell.

'Your girl get any good letters lately?'

Blake must have noticed that Daryl kept one or two of Beth's letters in his pocket at a time, taking them out to read them when he had a quiet moment. Blake had seen them together in the visitation room, and he might even have seen Daryl write a letter, so it was an innocent enough question. But there was something goading in those cold blue eyes.

While he was watching he saw an inmate from a few cells down walk up to Blake, pass him a pack of cigarettes, and then disappear again.

What the hell?

…

Rick looked at the note, his jaw pulsing as he rhythmically clenched his teeth. Then he placed it on his desk and laid his hands either side of it. 'I wouldn't put too much stock in this, Beth.'

Beth felt her smile fade.

'Hershel and I never thought Maggie was dead. Neither did you, if I remember right?'

She nodded, feeling like an idiot. Of course. 'It's just,' she said, her voice trembling, 'it's been so long since we've heard anything about her that I thought this must be a sign.'

Rick nodded. 'I have to agree, it's strange that it's been going on for ten months now and we've heard nothin' from her. I told myself, tempers'll cool in time and she'll come back.'

'Please, Rick. What did daddy and Maggie fight about? He still won't tell me and I can't move on. Did Maggie do something bad?'

Rick shook his head. 'You know that's not my place to say. That's between you and Hershel.'

'She was seeing someone. Older, married. I found her diary. She didn't say who it was but it was someone in this town.'

'I know.'

Beth stared at him. 'You know? Why haven't you talked to this person? Who is he? Daryl said that nine times out of ten it's the boyfriend.'

'I did talk to him. He let me search his house, top to bottom. No Maggie. No sign of her. When people run away there rarely is any sign.'

Beth sighed, looking round Rick's office. There wasn't much to see. Maps of the area. Stacks of files. 'The only person who believes me that Maggie didn't run away is Daryl.'

'Daryl Dixon, the hunter?'

'Yeah. He's been real kind to me. I wanted to talk to you about him, too. Ask your opinion about something.'

Rick frowned. She could see he didn't like the idea that she was visiting a convicted criminal. 'Well, Beth, I don't know him, or his case.'

'I know. But you must know a bit about the law. He told me what happened when he killed his father and I looked up voluntary manslaughter. It fits, mostly, but I just wondered why it didn't say anything about self-defence. Only provocation. Doesn't seem to be anything voluntary about self-defence that I can see.'

Rick frowned. 'If Daryl was acting in self-defence then that's not voluntary manslaughter. Self-defence is what his attorney should have argued to get him off.'

Beth's heart surged. 'Get him off? You mean, no jail at all? Innocent?'

…

 **Ups and downs this chapter, weren't there? We're getting close to the resolution of the story now. If you've got a theory about why Maggie disappeared and whether anyone was involved in her disappearance, I'd love to hear it. There are clues throughout the story, and it nods to events at the end of Season 3.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I just loved reading your theories about what happened to Maggie and why! Thanks so much for commenting. A couple of you are half right in different ways.**

 **Some of the answers are going to be in today's chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it.**

...

'Hey, Dixon.'

Daryl looked up from his bunk. He was trying to write a letter to Beth but he'd had three false starts already. Beth hoped that this anonymous note meant something good about Maggie, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was just the opposite. Sending an anonymous letter like that seemed like what a killer would do to taunt the loved ones. Was it better that Beth hold onto hope where they might not be any? Or should he urge her to let go and move on? Were either of these things even his place to say?

Blake was standing in the open door of their cell. 'Want to earn some money, Dixon?'

Daryl just glared at him. He'd liked Blake better when he'd just lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling all day. Mick had told him that Blake had been talking to dozens of inmates, forging connections, doing favours and having them done back. Getting them to call him the Governor. Seemed to Daryl like no good was going to come of it.

'When's that girl of yours coming in next?' Blake asked.

'What's it to you?'

'Thought maybe she could bring in a package for me. I'd cut you in.'

Drugs, he supposed. Daryl felt anger mounting but held his temper in check. 'I'm good.'

Blake laughed. 'You haven't even heard what it is.'

'I said I'm good.'

…

Daryl was having the dream again, the one in the woods at dusk. Except it wasn't progressing as it usually did. He was stuck, staring at the couple who were holding hands, seeing them over and over, not knowing why. Even in his dream he could feel himself becoming frustrated. Why the fuck was he just standing there?

Then he saw, and his eyes snapped open in the darkness. He'd been on the cusp of sleeping and waking the entire time and the shock of what he'd seen thrust him out of the dream.

They weren't holding hands. He was holding onto her wrist, dragging her with him. The girl was Maggie. And the man was Blake.

Daryl stared at the bunk above him, listening to Blake's heavy breathing, feeling like his eyes could burn through the mattress.

In the morning Daryl hung back when the cells were opened for the inmates to go down to breakfast. When Blake had gone and the coast was clear he lifted a corner of his mattress and worked a bar free. He'd noticed it was loose the day after he'd come to the prison, and that it was hollow on the inside. A useful hiding place. He reached in and took out something that he'd been saving for a rainy day.

…

Daryl watched Blake for three days, waiting for his chance. He was happy to wait. Strike too soon and the prey would escape. He was a hunter and he knew that.

Finally he saw his chance. Daryl followed him into the shower room. It was empty.

'You married, Blake?'

Blake turned and saw Daryl, then glanced around the room as if he expected an ambush. Seeing no one else, he relaxed a little.

 _Mistake. I'm what you need to worry about._

'Was married. Widower. What's it to you?'

'Any reason why you'd take a girl to a hotel instead of to your house?'

Blake ducked his head and chuckled to himself. 'Maggie's sister. I saw her here with you. Wondered if she knew about us.' His expression became serious. 'Sure hope Maggie comes back some day.'

Blake spoke real nice words but Daryl wasn't fooled. His eyes were cold. Only time he thought he'd seen the real Blake was when he'd been on the phone and when he'd been talking to his lawyer. He cared about himself and his daughter, that was all.

'You go into the woods much?'

Blake's smile faded.

 _That's right. Drop your shitty act._ 'I sure as hell did, all last summer. Lived in them woods with my brother. Saw a lot of things.' Daryl watched his face carefully. He wanted something, anything – a look of fear, a look of gloating – to confirm what he thought he remembered. A dream wasn't enough to go on. He needed to know for sure, for Beth's sake.

Blake laughed and turned to go. But Daryl wasn't done with him yet. He lunged at him, yanking Blake round and punching him in the face. Blake didn't go down. He was a big, mean motherfucker, and he pulled back and his fist connected with Daryl's left eye, making him reel. But Daryl'd taken worse punches. And he knew how to fight dirty. He reached into his shirt, ripped off the tape that concealed the shiv and pulled it out. It was a toothbrush that he'd ground into a point against the concrete floor and wedged a disposable razor blade into. Daryl'd had no intention of causing problems in the prison but he'd needed to know he could protect himself if he needed to. Or if a situation arose like this. He shoved it close to Blake's face and leaned a forearm into his throat. Hard.

'Killed a man with my bare hands, Blake. Did you know that? While you were writing dirty checks to yourself. You're gonna tell me what you know about Maggie Greene.'

'Jesus Christ, Dixon. You're fucking insane,' Blake rasped. 'I'm an embezzler, not a murderer.'

'Seemed comfortable about setting up a drugs racket in here. Pretty slick for someone who's just cooked a few books.'

'I see opportunity, I take it. I don't fucking kill people.'

Daryl looked into his eyes. The man seemed genuinely frightened. Some of his conviction dimmed. What the hell did he have to go on, anyway? That he had a strange dream and that he didn't like Blake. Reluctantly, he let him go, dropping his arm and turning away.

Blake coughed as Daryl relived the pressure on his windpipe. 'Watch yourself Dixon. I think you already know I can get close to your girl, even in here.'

 _MAGGIE'S ALIVE._

Sonuvabitch.

Daryl turned, swinging his right fist that still held the shiv straight at Blake's eye. It went right in, like it was a grape. Blood ran down over Daryl's fingers. Blake yelled and went down with Daryl on top of him.

He only had a few moments before someone came. 'I will take your other eye,' Daryl hissed, one knee on Blake's chest. 'I will blind you and then gut you like a fish and they can stick me on death row and fry me. I don't care. You're gonna tell me what you did to that girl.'

Blake gasped through the pain, his eyes screwed shut tight and blood all over his face. 'I'll deny everything later.'

'Be my fucking guest. You're still going to tell me. What happened to Maggie Green?'

…

July 15

Beth,

Come see me. I need to talk to you.

Daryl

…

'Daryl, what happened to you?'

Beth reached up a hand to his black eye. But he caught her hand and shook his head, making her sit down. He was twitchy from looking over his shoulder for days on end. He'd never trusted anyone on the inside and he trusted them even less now. Anyone might be working for Blake, just waiting for their chance to drop him.

He'd left Blake bleeding on the shower room floor and the man had been taken to the infirmary. He'd lost the eye, he'd heard. The guards hadn't come for Daryl so the motherfucker hadn't squealed, but that just meant Blake wanted to deal with him himself.

But none of that mattered. He'd found out what he needed to know. Beth was going to get some closure.

'Beth. Give me your hands.' She frowned and slid them toward him. He held them in his, his thumbs rubbing over her knuckles. He stared at her fingers, not able to meet her eyes. They were such small hands, white and fine in his large rough ones. He wanted to stare at them forever, because when he looked up she was going to see the truth in his eyes and he couldn't bear seeing the pain that he was about to inflict.

Daryl lifted his eyes. 'Beth. Maggie's dead.'

Beth went stiff and all the colour drained from her face. She tried to pull her hands out of his but he held them fast. 'She was murdered by someone in here. I saw them in the woods but I didn't realise what or who I was seeing till the other day. I went to this man and I got it out of him.'

He'd probably be the last person to see Maggie alive. The last person except Blake. If only he'd realised what he'd been seeing at the time, a man dragging a woman, not holding her hand. Why hadn't he seen it? Was it the light? Was it the trees? Was it the fact that he knew that his father had been asking to see him, and he dreaded that meeting more than anything in his life and had been distracted?

Beth was shaking her head, the tiny, fast shakes of someone who wasn't comprehending what they were being told.

'Beth, I'm so sorry.'

…

 **Poor Maggie :( I know a lot of you were hoping she was going to be all right. What do you think of the way Daryl found out the truth? Was he too violent? Just violent enough in the circumstances? And how do you think he went breaking the bad news to Beth?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you for all your comments yesterday, and thank you to those who reminded me that Merle would make a better protector of Beth than Rick in these circumstances.**

...

Beth sat in Sheriff Rick Grimes' office, a blanket draped round her shoulders. She seemed to remember she'd been shaking uncontrollably, though she hadn't felt cold.

Leaving the prison was a blur. She remembered Daryl talking to her, holding her hands, pleading with the guards to give them just a few more minutes, but she'd been hauled up by her armpits and escorted from the room. Just before she'd been taken outside Daryl had thrust a piece of paper into her hands.

'Take this to the sheriff,' he'd said. 'Right away. It's important.'

So she had, driving the hour and a half in a daze. Sheriff Grimes had taken one look at her face when she'd appeared at the station and hurried her through to his office, sat her down and tried to warm her up.

She dug the piece of paper out of her bag and handed it to him wordlessly.

'What is this?' he asked, examining it. It was a map torn out of a book. It showed the woods next to Beth's house, and an area had been circled in blue pen.

'It's where Maggie's body is buried,' Beth told him.

Sheriff Grimes had a lot of questions for her but she found she couldn't answer any of them. She didn't know how Daryl knew. He'd seen something, remembered something, she thought. But he was certain that Maggie was dead, and this was where she was buried.

'What are you going to do?' she asked him.

Rick was silent a moment. 'This circled area covers a square mile or so. I'm going to take some cadaver dogs and a few officers and we're going to search the area.'

'Cadaver dogs?'

'Sniffer dogs, but for human corpses.'

She nodded.

'And I'm going to call your father. When he arrives I want you both to wait here. All right?'

Beth was left alone. An officer came in and left a cup of coffee by her elbow, but she didn't want it. More time passed, and then she heard the sound of her father's voice outside. The door opened.

Hershel sat down beside her and took her cold hand in his. 'Bethie, what's going on? Rick said this was about Maggie.'

'She's dead, daddy.'

Hershel sucked in a breath. 'What would make you say a thing like that?'

'It's true. Sheriff Grimes has taken cadaver dogs up into the woods.'

Hershel was silent after that, holding her hand tightly. The seconds ticked by on the wall clock.

'Daddy, what did you two fight about?'

Hershel's eyes were red-rimmed, and he spoke slowly. 'She was seeing a man. Someone I knew to be a bad sort. She wouldn't believe me when I told her. Told me she was going to run away with him. We'd had the same fight over and over, and I lost my temper and told her that if she ran off with him then she needn't come back.'

'Was the man Phillip Blake?' she asked.

He nodded. 'His boss told me the police were closing in on him. Said he was a thief and a manipulator. Warned me for Maggie's sake, as he'd seen them together. I couldn't tell Maggie the truth in case she told Blake and he ran.' His voice shook. 'I should have told her. She would have kept it a secret. She's a good girl.'

Hershel was silent a moment, and then his face crumpled. 'She'd hurt me, you see. Told me she'd been having second thoughts about running the farm after I was gone. Said it was worthless, and she wanted more from life. It wasn't like her to say such things.'

'No,' Beth agreed. 'It wasn't.' Beth remembered how her longing for Blake and her sudden dislike of the farm seemed to be tied up with each other in the diary. It seemed like Blake must have poisoned her mind against her family and the things that made her happy

When the light was fading from the sky Sheriff Grimes came back into his office. He pulled a chair close to both of theirs. Beth noticed that his boots were covered in mud and leaf litter.

His voice was tight with emotion as he spoke. 'We found a body.'

Hershel listened, and Beth could see him nodding as the sheriff spoke, tears collecting on his lower lids. Beth heard only a rushing in her ears, like the sound the wind made as it passed through the tree canopy in the woods in high summer.

'What's happening now, daddy?' she asked when Sheriff Grimes had gone.

'We're gonna wait here just a bit longer, sweetheart,' he said, his shaking hand patting hers.

Several hours later the sheriff came back. He held something silvery in a plastic evidence bag. 'Do either of you recognise these?'

Beth took the bag, running her fingers over the bracelet Maggie had got for her sixteenth birthday. The ring she'd bought two summers ago in town on the day of the fair. Beth curled over the little bag, her head bowed as she clutched her sister's jewellery to her belly and sobbed.

…

It was past midnight when they finally left the station. Sheriff Grimes said he was going to come out and see them first thing in the morning, and the best thing they could both do now was get some rest.

Beth and Hershel walked out of the station like the wounded, their arms around each other, holding the other up. When they got to the car, Beth stopped and turned to her father.

'I still don't understand, daddy. Why did he have to kill her?'

Hershel shook his head. 'I don't know, sweetheart.'

Beth made her way to the passenger side of the car, but something moving out of the corner of her eye made her stop. There was a figure leaning against a car, and something about his shape and the way he was standing made her think of Daryl. She walked over to him.

After studying the man for several moments, she said, 'You're Merle.'

'That I am,' the man said, not moving. He had his arms folded across his chest.

'What are you doing here?'

He scuffed his heel against the ground. 'That boy o'yours was worried for you since the other day. Guess who got baby-sitting duty.'

'You've been following me?'

Merle nodded. 'If Blake can get a note to you while he's in prison ... well, you know. Go back to your daddy, girl.'

Beth hesitated. 'Thank you.'

Merle shrugged. 'S'nothin'. Though if you wanted to leave a sandwich outside your bedroom window every now and then I wouldn't say no.'

Despite everything that had happened that day, Beth smiled.

…

Daryl walked into the visitation room with a pounding heart. Beth hadn't said a word when he'd broken the news to her about Maggie, and he'd got no letter from her since. He'd lain awake at night, haunted by the look on her face, feeling like he'd killed Maggie himself.

But it wasn't Beth who came to the table several minutes later. It was a sheriff. He tamped down his disappointment and stood to greet him.

'Sheriff Rick Grimes,' the man said, standing and shaking Daryl's hand. 'I'm the officer investigating Maggie Greene's murder. There have been a few developments.'

Daryl didn't like the sombre expression on Grimes' face. He said quickly, 'What's happened to Beth?' Where the fuck was Merle? He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for her.

Sheriff Grimes held up a placating hand. 'Beth's safe. Her and her father.' They sat down, and Sheriff Grimes took a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. It was Daryl's map of the woods. He'd torn it out of his walking trails book. 'Is this yours?'

Daryl said nothing.

Sheriff Grimes gave a wry smile. 'Don't worry, this is all off the record. I'm gonna keep you out of it if I can. Beth asked me specially.' He gave Daryl a long look, like he was trying to work him out. 'Beth's a real nice girl.'

Didn't have to tell him that.

Sheriff Grimes went on, 'I'm aware that your dealings with Blake have been ... exceptional.'

'Is that a fancy way of saying you know I beat the shit outta him?'

Sheriff Grimes gave a short laugh and scratched the side of his head. 'Yeah, I seen his face. Between you and me I can't feel much sympathy for him. I do have a couple of questions for you though.' He became serious, leaning forward and placing his clasped hands on the table top. 'I fucked up on this case, and I want to do my level best to correct it for Beth and Hershel. Mr Dixon-'

'Daryl,' he corrected. If this sheriff had Beth's interests at heart then he was OK with him. The guy had clear, honest eyes. He had fucked up and failed the Greenes, but he was prepared to admit it and fix it and Daryl liked that.

'Daryl,' Sheriff Grimes said. 'I want to work out a timeline with you, if I may. Again, off the record. Can we do that?'

Daryl was prepared to help in any way that he could. He'd go on the record if need be, get more jail time, whatever, if it'd help the case. He nodded.

'Can you tell me how you discovered Phillip Blake had something to do with Maggie's disappearance?'

Daryl considered this. 'It was both of us. Me and Beth. She started writin' to me and straight away I knew somethin' bad had happened to the girl. Don't know why. She sent me bits of information, diary entries, stories about Maggie. When Beth came in to see me she recognised my cell-mate. Then I kept having this dream. I thought it was because I missed the woods and Beth had put them back in my mind after all these months. Dusk was falling, and I saw this couple on the trail, holding hands. I saw them, over and over, until one night I realised that they weren't holding hands at all. He was draggin' her.' Daryl fixed him with a look. 'Ain't much to go on. That's why I had to do what I did. To be sure, for Beth.'

He'd never hurt anybody in cold blood before. Stalkin' them, plannin' what he'd do once he got a hold of them. He hadn't decided to take his eye, he just knew that if he needed to make Blake feel pain to get the truth out of him he would do it. When he'd said that part about being able to get to Beth on the outside, he'd rammed that shiv into Blake's lyin', murdering face. He could still feel it going in. Hated that memory.

'You left the woods for north Georgia the next day? How long did it take to get there?'

'Two days.'

Sheriff Grimes nodded. 'Will Dixon died on September 16. Maggie went missing on September 7. If Maggie was the girl you saw, and everything points to the fact it was, then she was held somewhere by Blake, alive, for a week before she died.'

Daryl felt anger burn in his chest. 'Fuckin' creep. What the fuck was he doing all that time?'

'I searched his house, top to bottom. Didn't need a warrant. He invited me right in, all concerned, sayin' he'd seen Maggie the night she'd disappeared but then she'd had taken off somewhere. Said she needed some time alone.'

'He had people on the outside. He saw Beth visitin' me and within hours someone had dropped that letter in her letterbox, tauntin' her.'

'That's the explanation I've come up with, too. Someone else was holdin' her for him. I'll find them, in time.'

Both men were silent a moment, staring at the table top.

Daryl palmed the edge of the table. 'Somethin' don't feel right about all this, sheriff.'

'No? What's that.'

'Blake's got some crazy power thing goin' on. Can't seem to help himself, usin' people and seein' em squirm. Don't seem like he'd kill for fun, though. Don't seem like a rapist or other sort of sicko either, unless maybe it was a means to an end.'

'So why kill Maggie?' Sheriff Grimes asked.

'Yeah.'

The sheriff nodded, his eyes appraising. 'I read him the same. So I started diggin' around, reading old police reports. Blake's not from my part of Georgia. Moved here with his daughter about eighteen months ago. Wife died in a car accident.'

Daryl nodded. That fit with what Blake'd told him.

'Trouble is, so did his daughter.'

Daryl stared at the sheriff. 'His daughter? Story round here was that his daughter had been taken into care when he got sent in here.'

'She was. Or, the girl he told everyone was his daughter. A few months after his wife and daughter died a four-year-old girl went missing from the area where Blake used to live.'

'Sonuvabitch,' Daryl muttered.

'Couldn't cope with his daughter's death, I suppose. He loves that girl. Even now, in custody, he keeps asking for her. She's back with her real parents.'

'Maggie wasn't allowed to go to his house,' Daryl said, putting things together. 'She must have gone anyway, that night she ran away. Talked to the girl and got suspicious.'

'Or saw some photos of his dead family. I found some the second time I searched his house.'

'So he killed her.'

They were silent for several minutes.

Sheriff Grimes spoke up. 'But the thing is, Daryl, I ain't here just about Beth and Maggie. I'm here about you. Your sentence. Beth told me about what happened that night Will Dixon died. She told me what he did to you as a boy.'

Daryl felt his body stiffen. That shit was private. He didn't like people knowing about it, seeing the pity in their eyes. Beth was different. She didn't pity him or give him empty words. But it was his private shit, and he never imagined she'd go blabbing about it to other people. 'Beth told you?'

…

I cried writing this chapter :( I hoped you liked it. We're nearly done with the story. But not quite.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone! Here is the tenth chapter of _On the Inside_. I'm a little sad as it's also the last chapter. It's been so much fun writing this story interactively with you all, listening to your suggestions and theories and hopes. It's been such a unique writing experience. I hope you have enjoyed it too.**

...

July 29

Dear Daryl,

Maggie's been put into the ground and we're able to grieve properly for her. Our sadness is just as fresh as it was when she went missing, but even stronger now, as we know that she's gone for good.

You've done the very best thing for me and my father. You saved us. It's all over now.

Yours,

Beth

…

Daryl stepped out into the streaming August sunshine and heard the prison gates clang shut behind him. What a sweet fucking sound.

Merle was a few yards away, leaning on the hood of a rust-bucket car, arms folded. 'What's first, baby brother? You wanna get lit or get laid?'

Daryl looked beyond Merle toward the trees. 'How's the huntin' been this summer?'

'Real good.'

Daryl gave a small, satisfied smile at hearing those two words. All he wanted was to get out into the woods, strap his crossbow to his back and walk until this place was a distant goddamn memory.

He headed round to the passenger seat, thumping the hood of the car as he went. 'Then let's get the fuck outta here.'

…

It was the end of September. The anniversary of Maggie's disappearance had come and gone, impaling her and Hershel with grief, but they'd made it through to the other side, swapping happy memories to remind themselves of all the good times they'd had together.

The days were still sunny but the evenings were cooler and the trees in the woods were starting to turn yellow and brown. Beth watched them now, sitting at the piano forte and staring out the window.

He was out there, somewhere. He'd be among the trees, bare arms streaked with dirt and grit under his fingernails. Probably too much stubble on his chin. Not in her woods, of course, but the wilds somewhere. It made her happy knowing he was back where he belonged. Sheriff Grimes had told her that he'd been released in August. A judge had overturned the conviction against Daryl in light of fresh evidence and an argument of self-defence by his lawyer.

There was still Maggie's murder trial to get through. It wouldn't start until February. Blake had pleaded not guilty, but Sheriff Grimes had told them that he had DNA evidence linking Blake to the burial site and a confession from his accomplice, and was confident that the jury would convict. She hadn't seen Merle out of the corner of her eye since the accomplice had been arrested. She supposed the two brothers were together. She liked that idea.

Beth wandered into the kitchen, feeling restless. She'd carried that restlessness with her for months. She wanted to thank Daryl for what he'd done for them in person. If it weren't for him Maggie would still be out there in those woods in a shallow, unmarked grave. She'd thanked him in her letter, but it wasn't enough. And he'd never replied.

She missed him. His letters had kept her going those dark months when she'd felt so isolated. She missed receiving them, written in that firm, slanted script.

Beth went to the window over the sink, intending to get a glass of water but losing interest as soon as she got there. She glanced towards the woods.

There was a figure in black standing by the tree line. Whoever it was was too far away for her to make out any features, but it was a tall, broad figure. A man. He had longish, dark hair, and as she watched he put his hand to his mouth, and a few seconds later a cloud of blue-grey smoke drifted over his head.

Beth stood back, heart pounding. 'Daddy,' she called. 'I'm just going for a walk.'

Walking slowly, keeping her excitement tamped down, Beth pulled on her runners and walked out of the house. It might not be Daryl. It probably wasn't Daryl.

She walked across the fields, advancing slowly toward the figure. He stood still, watching her. As she drew closer she saw that he had a crossbow slung over one shoulder. He wore a black leather vest and his bare arms were muscled and tanned. He was streaked all over with dirt and had more than a week's worth of stubble on his chin. She hadn't been able to see much of it in that hateful orange jumpsuit, but he had a lean, powerful body.

She stopped a few feet from him. 'Hey.'

Daryl squinted at her through the blazing sunshine. 'Hey, yourself.'

Beth wanted to throw her arms around him, ask him where he'd been, what he was doing here. But her mouth felt dry. Finally she pointed over her shoulder at the house. 'Want some lemonade?'

…

Daryl glanced at the white weatherboard house. It was just as pretty as he remembered. And so was Beth. Prettier, even, out here in the sunshine surrounded by birdsong and hay and the smell of damp leaf litter.

He remembered lemonade from her letters. She'd sat on the porch and drank lemonade the day she'd gone hiking in the woods. He knew every goddamn word of those letters. They were burned into his mind from constant reading and rereading. They were in his backpack even now, wrapped carefully in plastic. The only good thing he'd taken out of the prison with him.

'Yeah, I could drink some lemonade.'

He walked silently beside her, one arm holding the crossbow strap, the other arm swinging. They climbed up the front steps and Beth headed toward the front door.

'I ain't comin' in. Haven't showered in days.'

She smiled at him and wrinkled her nose. 'Don't be silly, Daryl.'

And the way sweet goddamn way she said his name made him walk right in behind her without thinking. He propped his crossbow against the wall and followed her through to the kitchen, looking at the polished floors, clean drapes, the pictures on the wall. Just like he'd imagined it when he'd thought about her living in this house.

She poured them each a glass of lemonade and they clinked, neither of them toasting anything but giving each other a nod of understanding.

'Do you remember saying to me that someday you'd like to hear one of my songs?' she asked, and he nodded. 'Do you still wanna?'

'I do.'

She led him through to the front room. She took her place at the piano while he perched on the arm of the sofa. _Gettin' it filthy_ , he thought.

She placed her small white hand on the keys and began to play. It was a light, cheerful song, and as she sang in a clear sweet voice he realised from the words he knew what it was: _Two Hearts and a Diamond_ , the first song she'd sold.

When it was over she turned and grinned at him. 'The Sweetgums do it much better. They've got this sassy style, and guitars.'

He didn't say anything, just watched her, and he saw a pink blush come to her cheeks. Goddamn, she looked so pretty sitting there, all soft smile and soft eyes. But she weren't soft. She was strong, though maybe she hadn't worked it out yet. She'd faced some things he wished she'd never had to, but she hadn't let it take her happiness. He could feel himself easing as he looked at her, feeling like maybe he wasn't a monster through and through because she didn't look at him like he was one.

'Can I play you somethin' else?' she asked, looking down at the keys.

'Sure.'

'I wrote it the morning after I first met you. I woke up and you were on my mind. I could feel the notes in my fingers and out it came. I never wrote a composition like it before.'

She began to play, and it wasn't a ditty or a pop song like she'd told him she normally wrote. It was a haunting, instrumental piece, like a film score, and make Daryl think about stormy skies over the sea, and the depths of icy winter. There was real emotion in that piece. Loss. Need. Tenderness.

The piece ended, and she stared down at her hands as if she was afraid to look up at him.

'Damn, girl,' he said, his voice low and husky. 'You got some talent.'

She turned to him with a smile, but was distracted by something over his shoulder. He turned and saw a white-haired man standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

'Daddy, this is Daryl Dixon.'

Daryl stood quickly, remembering how filthy he was. Hershel would know about the manslaughter charge. He probably knew what he'd done to Blake, too, and here he was sitting with his slip of a daughter, looking at her with who goddamn knew what expression had been on his face. That piece had stirred up things he'd never felt before.

Daryl nodded respectfully at Hershel. 'Sir.'

Hershel came forward. 'Son, I've been hoping I'd get to shake your hand one day.'

Daryl quickly wiped his hand on his pants and shook Hershel's extended one.

Hershel smiled. 'You've helped this family, and I ain't ever gonna forget it.'

…

Later Beth and Daryl leaned on the porch railings, looking toward the woods. The sun was starting to sink down behind the house.

'Were you angry with me that I told Sheriff Grimes about what your daddy used to do to you?' Beth asked softly. 'I'm sorry if I hurt you.'

Daryl followed the path of a swallow as it flew overhead. 'You ain't got nothing' to be sorry about, Beth.'

She took a deep breath. 'Those letters we wrote each other,' she said. 'What's that expression people say? More than the sum of its parts. That how I feel about 'em. They were just pieces of paper and words, but they did so much for us.'

'It weren't the letters.' He turned to look at her. She waited for him to go on, but he didn't.

'I should be gettin' back,' he said, nodding toward the woods. 'Make camp. Shoot some dinner.'

She didn't say anything, but felt a pang of loss and sadness go through her. She could see how uncomfortable he was in her house, like he felt he didn't belong. And maybe it was a reaction to being locked up for months. He wanted to feel free, not have four walls around him.

He startled her when he said, 'Come with me?'

She thought about this for a moment. 'It's gettin' dark,' she pointed out.

He nudged her gently with his shoulder. 'You scared, girl?'

Beth looked at him side-long, a smile playing around her lips. Then she disappeared inside the house. She came back a few minutes later in a pair of hiking boots, a light waterproof jacket and with a rucksack slung over her shoulder. She marched down the steps, but turned back when he didn't follow.

Shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she gazed up at him. He looked dirty and dangerous with that crossbow slung over his shoulders and hair hanging over his forehead. Handsome as hell, too. He always had been, but it was doubled now that he was free.

He was looking at her through narrowed eyes with a pleased, amused expression.

'Well? You comin', Daryl?'

He curled one hand around the crossbow strap at his shoulder and made his way down the stairs toward her.

…

THE END

…

 **I hoped you enjoyed Reading _On the Inside_ as much as I've enjoyed writing it. You are an amazing community of people and I can't thank you enough for all the support and encouragement you've given me!**

 **Even though this story is now complete I love hearing from people who have read it subsequently. Do leave me a comment letting me know if you enjoyed it!**

 **Check out my other alt-universe stories. _They Seek Him Here_ is a Bethyl story set in East Germany behind the Berlin Wall. Angst, danger, bleak midwinter communist oppression. **

**_Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde_ is a Jekyll and Hyde/Walking Dead mash-up starring Philip/Brian as Jekyll/Hyde, and Beth. **


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